Houston, Rock It.

Disclaimer: For the purposes of not getting anyone in trouble or tarnishing their reputation, ________ could be a number of people and not necessarily the same person.

Disclaimer Part II: I know that from reading this it may seem like we upgraded from one roach motel to another, but we actually stayed somewhere really beautiful the second time around. Really it's only that rich people do more drugs than us normal folk. Something about entitlement, I hear... Or easier access.

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I’ve been to Houston on more than one occasion on layovers and never once considered it could be a city I’d fall head-over-heels for. When __________ asked me to join her in this little excursion to meet her Twitter love, I figured What the heck.

From my experience I think Houston is the upscale cousin of Dallas. With hotter guys and better food.

(There are beautiful girls there too if you’re a male of the non-homosexual persuasion interested in a little fun).

As much as I attempt to condense vacations into posts I never end up doing the experience justice so I’ve somehow given up on that and succumbed to just pictures. After all, I'm really just a blogger and this ain't the mufuhckin Travel Channel.

I did mention previously that I lost my camera to an intoxicated photographic incident involving a bird, but with the help of i-pads and camera phones we captured bits and pieces of what was one of the best extended weekends in the history of debauchery.

Here's a preview of what went down in no particular order:

• I chose not to get car rental insurance.
• I crashed the Impala on the first night.
• __________ insisted on painting my eyebrows like "the models do it."
• I looked like Frida Kahlo (see below).
• I killed my six month celibacy with a kind and sweet young man.
• I think there were fireworks and white doves involved in the act.
• He was twenty-two.
• ________ did the same except she wasn't celibate.
• He was nineteen twenty-one.
• I bought a red dress my mom would never approve of.
• I immediately regretted it but ________ made me wear it anyway.
• We ate like Star Jones before gastric bypass.
• __________ made out with a gay guy she simply thought was "confused."
• He was wearing a glitter shirt.
• We mistakenly picked a roach motel on the outer skirts of town where crack deals take place.
• Their shower/toilet/opium vending machine didn't work. 
• We changed hotels the day after.
• Our neighbors in the new hotel smoked weed everyday.
• Everytime the air conditioning turned on our room smelled like a rap video.
• We threw a party with some vodka and strangers.
• We got security called on us.
• They smelled our neighbors' marijuana.
• We almost got arrested.
• Had way too much pumpkin beer.
• ___________ couldn't make it to the toilet and peed on hotel stairs.
• They were carpeted.
• We almost got arrested.
• I made friends with a serial stalker (more on this later).
• Everyone fornicated with men under twenty-five.
• No one got arrested.

Wings and waffles = Purrrrrfection.

Texas can party, guys. And at the expense of sounding like a total cheeseball if there's anything other than incredible memories gained from these getaways, it's the invaluable gift of perspective.

Perspective that there's a world out there for the taking. Perspective so many people are yet to be met who will inevitably change who you are. Perspective that once you go past discovering, your world will never be the same. Perspective that my bank account will be empty for three weeks. And perspective that yup, it was all fucking worth it.